


Sample/Unit

by riverbanks



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Prince of Tennis Santa Smex 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-24
Updated: 2006-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverbanks/pseuds/riverbanks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the first time they're doing this, not exactly, not technically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sample/Unit

It's not the first time they're doing this, not exactly, not technically, Momo thinks. But it is the first time they're doing _this_, all the way, to the very end, and doing it the proper way: in a bed, under covers, with the lights out and the door locked. And something about all this comfort and this planning and this thinking things ahead doesn't sit right with him. He can't say it's not nice, being safe and sound in Echizen's room instead of rushing through the best parts, terrified that someone's gonna open the club room's door and find them there in the most inexcusable of positions. It's just that it's always been that way, it's always been a gamble, and he's grown so used to the rush, the clumsiness, the fear, the discomfort of a cold wall or a dirty floor, that just lying there in a bed, like it's an ordinary thing they do all the time, seems to him like the weirdest thing that's ever happened to them.

_Momo-sempai_, Echizen calls in that dead-pan voice of his, and stares at him like he's expecting Momo to do something, and it's only when Echizen rubs a leg against his under the covers that he remembers they're supposed to be making out.

He turns halfway on his side in bed and tugs at Echizen's waist. Echizen doesn't waste time, climbing his chest and straddling his legs, covering him like a second sheet, a sheet that is too heavy, that smells like sweat and that rubs against him with an urgency that Momo would almost confuse with a little hint of panic, if this wasn't Echizen.

He likes the feeling of Echizen's weight on his chest, pressing on him, making him breathe in hitches. In Junior High, Momo used to have these disturbing dreams of pounding Echizen's small body onto a mattress, and he'd wake up dizzy and disgusted with himself - but Echizen's grown up, he's grown up fine, and Momo knows now that those fantasies of his were nothing, would have been nothing, next to the feeling of a grown man Echizen, almost as tall and strong as himself, pushing him against a wall, pinning him down to the floor. He knows now that being the one pushed down onto the bed can feel a lot more empowering than he's ever given it credit for.

_Momo-sempai_, Echizen calls again, and his voice is not dead-pan at all this time. It's edgy, it's annoyed, it cracks just a little bit, and Momo thinks he can almost hear Echizen's girly Junior High voice again, but it must be just the momentum getting to his head.

Echizen is still rubbing against him, and Momo knows that this is Echizen, that Echizen doesn't panic, ever, not gonna happen, but it still doesn't cost him anything to bring his hands down to Echizen's hips and stop them, to look Echizen in the eye and say, _Hey, we don't have to do this_. But Echizen is stubborn, not stubborn like a mule, stubborn like a whole rake or two of them. Once Echizen has something in his mind, no one's gonna convince him otherwise, not his father, not his captain, certainly not his best friend. He said tonight they're gonna do this, so tonight they're gonna do this, and Momo can't even be bothered to argue.

He lets his hands slide down, following the line of Echizen's spine, feeling muscle and bone edges - all the running they've done all these years gave Echizen great thighs, but his ass is still skinny, and there's little Momo can grab there, but he takes what he can get and makes do with it. Echizen stares at him, and with Echizen, Momo never knows - he could be glaring at him for suggesting that they stop, he could be waiting for a sign to go on, who knows, he could even be thinking about thinking about tennis. So Momo rubs back up once, twice, guessing, inviting, welcoming? - and, in a second, Echizen is down on him like a starving wolf, tugging at his uniform until the hem is almost ripping, eating his mouth with teeth sharp like fangs, thrusting down against him, pounding him onto the damn mattress until he can feel it, through his pants, through Echizen's pants, through the fabric and the covers and the darkness, through the sounds of footsteps downstairs, through the crazy, irrational fear in the back of his mind that suddenly they'll be back at the club house and any minute now the captain's gonna kick that door open and send them running laps around the planet until a week after kingdom come.

The sheet is on the floor before Momo realizes what the ruffling sound was, and next follows his jacket, yanked off his arms when he's distracted looking around for the condoms and the lubricant, the practicalities one of them has to think of even through the haze of a hard-on. But not even this, not even forcing himself to think of the hows and whens wakes him up from this half-dream, from this alienating feeling of not really being there, doing that. It's only when he turns back around and finds himself frozen on spot, cold tube in his right hand and small pack in the left one, staring down at an Echizen who sits in front of him with no pants on, staring back at him without a clue as to what to do next, that Momo is pulled back into reality, and the absurdity of their situation hits him like a twist serve delivered at its best, making him crack up and laugh himself into a fit.

It takes only a moment, but then Echizen is laughing too, and, of all things Momo has to find irresistible about Echizen, that does it for him, because Echizen laughing open and wide like this, shoulder shaking with his chuckles and that throaty sound -god, that sound- escaping his grinning mouth is rare like a full eclipse of the sun. Even Momo's not sure he's seen that more than a handful times in who knows how many years.

From then on, it's just instinct. They stop pretending they have any idea what they're doing, and just do it any way they can, any way that seems right. Some of it is gross, some it seems pointless and stupid, and some of it even feels good at some points, but halfway through what is supposed to be the best part, Momo is completely certain that there is no way they're not doing this whole thing wrong, that he can't not be tearing Echizen apart, they have to stop and rethink this through. But all through it, Echizen never complains, never grimaces, never gives the slightest hint that he's hating this. He just has that look on his face - that one, the look he gets when he's playing one of those matches against one of those players that he has no chance of beating unless he pulls a brand new miracle out of an orifice (and he usually does, and sometimes it's so good a miracle that even the old monk has to shut up, for once).

After a while of obstinate looks but no vocal protests, Momo is forced to admit that this is probably not feeling as good for Echizen as a nice make-out session behind the bleachers or an awesome blowjob in the bathroom, between classes, but it doesn't look like it's all that horrible either, and maybe with time and some practice they can even get pretty good at this. Or at least a little less awkward.

_Momo-sempai_, Echizen calls one last time, after it's all over and done with, after they've called it quits on experimentation and Momo's beaten them both off, after he's cleaned up the mess for them and let the cat in before it clawed a hole through the door, after he's laid back in bed, back to the beginning, back to covers and turned-off lights; except now Echizen's missing his pants, and Momo's still trying to figure how he's gonna explain the stain on his own when he gets home.

Echizen's voice is sleepy and neutral, there's no panic and no edge, no particular tone. But it's calling his name, and Momo glances at him and ruffles his hair and pats the cat sleeping between the two of them, and this is just another thing he'll have to get used to, like a million other things they'll have to do for the first time, even if not really, not technically. He doesn't want to let go of the fear, the gamble, the risk that keeps them on the edge, but maybe this will do too. Lying there, still, slow, planning and thinking things ahead like it's an ordinary thing, the door locked and the window open, letting in a cold breeze that makes him want to reach out and steal the covers from Echizen, or just bury under them with him and forget to go home tomorrow, or ever again.

He can't say it's not nice.


End file.
